Crown Identity
by kunoichiyumemi
Summary: One woman lives through the ages one day at a time, watching as her bloodline wanes and becomes corrupted. To save her family, she must return to her past… But can she relive the overwhelming grief, love, and betrayal; or will the burden crush her? AU
1. Prologue: In Which The Story Begins

**Crown Identity**

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author:** KunoichiYumemi

**Summary:** One woman lives through the ages one day at a time, carrying her mother's legacy, as all the while, her bloodline wanes and becomes corrupted. To save her family, she must return to her past… But can she relive the overwhelming grief, love, and betrayal; or will the burden crush her?

**Note:** This story is set in an alternate Universe I like to call the White Mage Tales. The White Mage Tales is a combination of Crown Duel, Magic, and some Sci-fi. If you don't like this, well, too bad. I'm writing this story, and if you don't like it, then don't read it.

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

Prologue

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

"KILL HER!! Kill the witch!" the city's populace roared as they swarmed the streets, waving pistols and swords and knives. The light of torches and glow-globes threw their shadows against the walls of the capital city, smothered by the darkness of mid-night.

Once the last person passed and the light vanished down the street, a cloaked and hooded figure left the shadows and ran for the massive gates erected at the end of the street. She slipped through the heavy iron doors covered in ornate carvings and engravings. One of the guards released a warning shout, but before reinforcements could arrive, the figure was merely a small speck on the horizon.

Not long after sunrise, the figure stopped and hidden at the edge of the forest looked sadly down at the glittering city below. The figure lowered its hood to reveal elfin features, the smooth pale skin marred by tearstains, the fiery hair drawn out of her face by a coronet, with the jewels still in her hair, and in her ears.

"Athaneral, you were once my home, and I loved you well," she whispered. "Under the rule of myself, my king, and the three generations of progeny after me, you shone like a beacon in the night, and you brought me much joy. So I leave you this gift: Under the rule of my progeny, you will thrive and have peace. You will be strong and renowned, but old wounds will fester here. The rulers will become corrupt, and you too, will drip with malice and darkness, but you will be strong, and you will have peace derived from darkness, and you will long for a more fitting ruler to sit once more upon the goldenwood throne. I will wait and watch, and should you repent, you will have peace borne of love."

**XoXoXoXoXoXoX**

At the center of the grand forest was a tall stone wall, which ran around a large castle, whose towers and turrets could be seen. Along side it ran a river, bubbling cheerfully over the rocks. Several kilometers along the river's path was a broken portion of the wall, and through that gap, one could easily see that the castle was falling apart.

A slender woman, dressed in a green velvet gown so dark it almost seemed black, walked along the wall, stopping at the gap. Her face, hidden behind the sheer green veil, was turned to the forest outside. Her long hair tumbled from beneath the veil in fiery curls, and was held in place by a thin circlet of gold. A fan hung from her waist, held in place by a glossy satin sash. Her eyes were hidden, but shone with age and wisdom, and grief… especially grief…

The family that she and her husband had brought into the world was shifting, waning, and was becoming corrupted. The world had changed since her time, and she was tired, very much so, but her rest was denied to her. Her mother's legacy to her was power, unfathomable amounts of power, and the youth and longevity that many people only dreamed of. Because of this legacy, this… this _GIFT_ from her mother, she lived.

Those she had loved, her father, her brother, his wife, their sons and daughters, her husband, his cousins, her children and grandchildren, her great nieces and nephews, all those whom she had loved had died, and she lived on. She lived on through the ages as the world and the people changed, she watched as her family died before her very eyes, as her own kin had driven her from her home for her power and longevity, which had not been passed to her progeny, and she watched as the kingdom change and the monuments, cities and palaces crumbled under the onslaught of time. She was untouched by time, but all that she loved fell to Time's stately grace…

Long ago, the forest had retaken the castle, cutting it off from the villages and cities surrounding it, and the spirits and plants and beasts guarded the treasure that it guarded, the last of her kind. She was the last Whitemage, whose progeny's bloodline had become corrupted and could no longer support the power or longevity of the Whitemage's immortality. The forest and its inhabitants gave themselves over to her service, and she lived on, watching from deep within the forest as time flowed past, and the cities grew and changed, as the people became less strict with their children, and softer, becoming more than a little naive.

She turned away from the gap and slowly made her way back to the castle…

**XoXoXoXoXoXoX**

Vidanric smiled faintly as he watched the Countess crest the hill, look back, then lean forward, spurring her horse forward toward the city below.

"It seems that I will be the winner of this wager, then," he murmured quietly to himself as he turned his own horse off the road onto a less used track.

**XoXoXoXoXoXoX**

Meliara frowned as she looked around her. She was sure that she had not taken the wrong turn… There was a rustle in the bushes behind her, and she wheeled her horse to face whoever was approaching. She loosed a relieved sigh when she saw the face.

It was only Shevraeth.

"Ahh, Countess,' he said lightly. "We seem to be a bit lost."

"Lost indeed…" said a gentle voice. The two jumped and stared at the figure behind them.

"Who are you?" Meliara demanded.

"You know me," the woman said calmly, "you know me very well, Lady Meliara Astiar."

The woman lifted her veil and Vidanric felt his mask slip and he gaped openly while Meliara stared in shock. The woman's lips twitched upwards in a slight smile…

"Youth and longevity…" Meliara whispered as knowledge dawned upon her. "My mother's legacy… But how?"

"You know how," the woman replies. Both women show no indication that they are aware of Shevraeth's presence nearby.

"But I am the last…"

"You are indeed, for now… Until you bear heirs who will carry the legacy of youth, wisdom, and longevity."

"Why are we here? We should not be here then."

"That, I do not know."

"A warning from the predecessors?"

"Perhaps."

Vidanric stared at the two women, and he finally said, "Countess?"

The two women who looked so much alike turned to him as one. "Yes?"

Vidanric blinked, feeling vaguely disturbed. The woman in green cocked her head to the left, her eyes turning to a point behind him, while Meliara wheels her horse to face the same direction.

"You hear it as well?" the woman says.

"Yes," says Meliara. "A carriage is coming."

"At great speed as well…" the woman murmurs. "This is very odd. The forest has not allowed any human approach me in many long years…"

"They should be arriving here soon," Meliara said.

As predicted, the carriage rumbled into the clearing mere seconds after Meliara spoke. Her eyes widened as the carriage approached. _'Too fast! It won't stop in time!'_

The Woman dressed in green raised her hand and uttered in a clear, ringing voice, two syllables in an unidentifiable language, "_Daro_!" (Stop!)

Immediately, the quartet of horses drawing the carriage stopped, and the wheels on the carriage locked, ceasing all momentum. The surprised driver was flung from his seat, and flew through the air, making a headlong course for the mighty oak that could be seen directly behind the woman.

Meliara raised her voice, clearly, though with less intensity, and uttered the same word in the unidentifiable language, "_Daro_!" (Stop!)

The driver's momentum was immediately halted, and he dropped to the forest floor like a stone, and he fell into a patch of velvety indigo flowers. The driver picked himself up shakily, and bowed to the two women, thanking them in a tremulous voice. Neither woman missed the fear lacing his voice, nor did the Marquis of Shevraeth, nor did he miss the slight slumping of both women's shoulders and the slight dimming of their eyes in resignation. The carriage door opened and Branaric Astiar and Nimiar Argaliar stepped out, looking confusedly at the four people in the clearing, three known, the other, not. A long silence stretched between them, as understanding passed between the mysterious woman and Meliara.

The silence was finally broken by Meliara as she spoke something in the strange language, her voice changing to become clearer and more musical than ever it had been in the past as the words left her lips, "Manke naa lle tuulo?" (Where are you from?)

The woman smiled, her eyes sad but amused, and said in the Common Tongue, "Do you not know?" she said quietly, and it seemed that the words left her lips as the gentle chiming of a bell.

Silence fell again, and Meliara spoke again in the strange, musical tongue, which seemed to make her glow white with every syllable which passed her lips, "Mani marte?" (What happened?"

"I know not," the woman said. She looked up at the canopy of the trees above her, and as Meliara followed her gaze, she perceived that the branches shifted, allowing the sky to be seen. "The sun sets, and with darkness, comes danger. You will sleep in safety tonight."

"Diolla lle," Meliara said. "Thank you, from my companions and myself, Hiril Val'istar." (Thank you. My Lady.)

The woman nodded, and the air around them warped and the green and browns of the trees swirled together. The swirling began to slow, and while the others perceived only darkness, Meliara perceived that the colors were changing. The swirling stopped, and the company found themselves standing in the doorway of an imposing castle.

Bran looked around then burst out, "This is Castle Astiar!"

"Yes," Meliara said quietly, "I had suspected when I first laid eyes upon yonder Lady. This is Tlanth as it may be. And yonder Lady is I as I may become."

"Say instead, that this is Tlanth as it _will_ become, for naught but one who bears the full legacy of the Whitemage, can fully withstand the ravages of time," said the elder Meliara. "Not even the dear Castle Astiar, in which so many generations had made their home, can stand forever. Soon, even my faithful tending to my beloved childhood home shall become all but useless, and I shall have to move once more. And even the youth and longevity with is the legacy of one such as Meliara Astiar cannot forever whether the sands of time, and though we neither wither nor crumble, we shall grow and change, until Fate sees fit to withdraw us from this world. Already, time takes its toll upon the much beloved structure, upon myself as well, but as yet, it is still strong, and I am yet young, and Castle Astiar, after so many long years of loneliness, shall house visitors within the halls once more!"

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

To perceive this Castle Astiar, so run down, yet so homely despite its deteriorating condition, was shocking so recently after the sight of the Castle, newly redone, with certain parts yet under construction. Nee found herself wondering what had happened to bring the castle to this point, as she wandered the well tended gardens. Her eyes widened at the sight of the harp, strong and vibrant, tucked away in a sheltering corner where the elements could not harm it.

Unconsciously, Nimiar Argaliar was soon seated upon the stool tucked in the same corner, tuning the ancient instrument, which was well preserved despite its age.

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

Vidanric and Bran had vanished into the library, which was filled with books once more. Neither man dared lay hand upon the ancient tomes, lest they fall to dust. Strangely, though the room was missing a wall, the elements seemed not to have entered this room at all. The only element to have touched this room, was obviously time.

Neither man said anything of this, and instead, they leaned against the cold stone walls, and conversed in quiet tones of this strange adventure that they had been unwillingly whisked away on, and the Lady Meliara's sudden transition into the formal speech, and her strange knowledge of what was happening around them. Their perception of the Lady was shifting, and though they knew it not, it was this perception that would decide the future of the Kingdom Remalna.

**XoXoXoXoXoXoX**

Meliara of Past and Meliara of Future had ensconced themselves in one of the towers, one that they had often went with their—her—mother, before her death, and afterward, when the Hill Folk could provide no solstice.

They conversed long of strange things in a strange tongue, and in the strong light of the glow-globes, searched through heavy tomes, untouched by age, preserved by the skills of the Whitemage, which was the legacy of all pure hearted and noble Calahanras progeny, be they son or daughter.

Meliara of Past was first to note that the sun had slipped beyond the horizon, and spoke, "Night falls, and we have guest to which we must attend."

"Indeed," Said Meliara of Future, "I must confess, that I shall not say nay to a moment's respite."

"You speak truly, and I feel that we shall search better when our charges are not abandoned to fend for themselves in this old place, echoing with memories long past."

That said, both women marked their pages, and closed the books before leaving the tower, pausing only to lock the door, and set out to gather their guests for supper.

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

That night, as her time-lost guests slept, she stood at a window and reflected whimsically on the past for the first time since she had been driven out of Athanarel. She shook the thoughts away, and her mind drifted to her lessons as a Whitemage.

"_A Whitemage is first and foremost, a tool to the Fates. They may not use their powers to interfere unless it is necessary, and the Fates are rarely known to give any distinct sign that Whitemage intervention is necessary. But remember this, Meliara, just because the Fates rarely give distinct signs does not mean that they do not give signs at all. You must interpret these signs to your best ability, and act as you see fit. But no Whitemage may flaunt their power, nor use it for personal gain. To do so is to forfeit any of the hereditary power that makes a Whitemage so important to the continued existence of this world. So you must be strong, live according to the Oaths of a Whitemage, and breed your progeny to do the same, to live according to the Oath. Do not fear if your progeny do not bear the gift, for somewhere along the way, your bloodline will give way to a Whitemage, and you will step forward to teach them the Oath. Do you understand?"_

"_I understand, mama."_

"I tried my best, mother," Meliara whispered as a single shining tear coursed down her cheek. "I tried, and despite it all, despite the ever clear warning, I failed, and history repeated itself. My bloodline is corrupted beyond saving…"

--

--

**TBC…**


	2. Part 1: In Which Meliara Leads a Chase

**Crown Identity**

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author:** KunoichiYumemi

**Summary:** One woman lives through the ages one day at a time, carrying her mother's legacy, as all the while, her bloodline wanes and becomes corrupted. To save her family, she must return to her past… But can she relive the overwhelming grief, love, and betrayal; or will the burden crush her?

**Note:** This story is set in an alternate Universe I like to call the White Mage Tales. The White Mage Tales is a combination of Crown Duel, Magic, and some Sci-fi. If you don't like this, well, too bad. I'm writing this story, and if you don't like it, then don't read it.

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

Part 1: In Which Meliara Leads a Merry Chase

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

"Mel!"

Meliara jerked into awareness as a familiar voice rang out. The door was flung open as her brother, Branaric Astiar entered the room, just as a gust of wind blew open the shutters, scattering papers around the room.

"…and I just finished putting them into order too!" Meliara heard herself saying from what seemed like a vast distance.

_Was it all simply a vision? Or is this a dream?_ Meliara wondered.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, Meliara accidentally cut herself on a shard of the bowl that had toppled off a stool.

"Mel!" Bran said in alarm as he spotted the blood that welled out of the cut.

"I'm fine Bran," Meliara said quietly, vaguely surprised by how smooth and cool her voice was.

_Nope, not a dream, _she thought, sucking absently at her hurt fingers, _definitely not a dream. But my voice, it was never like this back then… what happened?_

She took her fingers out of her mouth and concentrated slightly, and her eyes widened as the cuts closed and vanished, with only the blood on the floor to show that anything had happened. _My healing abilities didn't kick in until I was with my first child, _Meliara thought. _But to have them now… Could it be? Am I having a second chance? If that is true, then my enhanced healing would truly make a vast difference of how well I lead Debegri and Vidanric on the chase across Remalna…_

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Branaric was confused. Ever since their father had died, Meliara had changed. As the months of war dragged on, Meliara had taken up the reins of command more and more, and much of what she suggested went way over his head although admittedly, his sister's ideas had pulled Tlanth away from trouble fairly often. Her face had changed, and she seemed to be the cleanest of the entire Tlanthi revolutionary force, through she lived in much the same conditions as everyone else. Her eyes were always shadowed with some unknown sadness, and her face rarely ever seemed to change to show her heart anymore. Somehow, this war was turning his sister into a courtier, the very lines of her face serene, blank, and politely attentive, and she held herself gracefully and powerfully, as though she were a queen with many eyes always upon her. She almost constantly waved that fan about as Bran had seen the ladies in court do, and… Bran realized suddenly that he simply didn't know his sister anymore. Ever since the war had begun, she had become a virtual stranger, and she had distanced herself from her one time friends, becoming more and more formal as days went by.

The revolution his father had planned to the moment of his death had molded his sister into a veritable stranger, and Branaric Astiar had no idea what to do about it.

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Many things had changed. War had been inevitable, and so too had been the running of the mercenaries, taking the hard gathered money of County Tlanth with them. Meliara simply rearranged the positions of her brother's people to fill in the empty spots, assigning positions and duties with care to not stretch the Tlanthi forces too thin. Likewise anticipated had been arrival of the Marquis of Shevraeth on the field. His plans, which had once boxed the Tlanthi into a corner in her memories, were expertly parried by the woman, who would, in the future, become his wife. Though this reset meant that she was simply the sister of a Count, who would bear the courtesy title of Countess until her brother's marriage, she was, in her heart, the Sorceress Queen Meliara Calahanras-Astiar-Rensaeleaus of Remalna, wife and consort to the King Vidanric Rensaeleaus of Remalna. Vidanric may have learned tactics and strategy in Marloven Hess, but Meliara had learned the same in the mountains of Tlanth and the in the Court of Athaneral along with the addition of her childhood lessons in the ways of a White Mage with her mother, and after she became Queen, the lessons of sorcery and magic that took place after her little son Alaerec was born. She was more than a match for an admittedly very handsome and wily Marquis whom she would one day marry.

And so Meliara smiled sweetly as the Tlanthi people and her brother peppered her with questions, and gave vague answers as she waved the delicate fan that she had dug out of her mother's wardrobe in the pose that denoted tolerant amusement.

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For Meliara, the pain of having her foot caught in a trap the second time around was just as bad as she remembered, and in some ways, worse. Of course, last time, she had not deliberately walked into her own brother's traps. Still, she thought as she painfully dragged herself behind a group of bushes, it was worth it, after all, if she had never been caught by that trap, she would have never met Vidanric, if she had never met Vidanric, then she would never have seen young Alaerec take his first steps, would never… No. That future no longer existed. It had yet to exist. Meliara would have to rebuild it all again. She finally gave in to the pain and the darkness creeping along the edges of her vision, content in the fact that events had been played out as closely as the old as she could have managed it.

--

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The Tlanthi staged several other clashes in the past two day, but unlike previous times, the rebels lost horribly. Debgri was practically dancing with joy as he decided that the Tlanthi rebels' main strategist had either been killed or had abandoned their cause. At the same time, the woman remained ill and unresponsive under the tender mercies of the Baron Nenthar Debegri and the Marquis of Shevraeth, who did his utmost best to curb the Baron's bloodthirsty tendencies against the spy. By the third day, Tlanth had made four attempts against the camp to retrieve the spy, and Vidanric began to get the sneaking suspicion that perhaps the woman was much more than a simple spy. The Tlanthi had, in their attempts to retrieve their spy, been making sloppy moves in comparison to their movements before. Was it possible that the woman had been the one directing them? If so, then it was even more important to gain the information that the woman possessed.

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Her name was Meliara Astiar, Countess of Tlanth. They had discovered her name when the rebels had made a sixth incursion into the camp in an attempt to rescue her, and she had screamed to her brother, and the rebels cried out her name in return. It was only then that they realized the value of their newest prisoner. Vidanric risked a glance at the feverish and unconscious woman in his arms. She had been taught well, he thought grudgingly, especially since she had so easily gone around him and countered his every move. Her falling into her own brother's traps had merely been quite a stroke of luck, of bad luck for her that was. Then Vidanric frowned; it was unusual for her to have so obviously received a better education than her brother. Surely the late Count of Tlanth had not foregone his son's education in favor of teaching his quick-witted daughter the arts of war when she should have been learning the delicate art of directing a noble household? But then again, Vidanric reminded himself, Tlanth was a hardy and poor County, so it was likely that the Countess was self taught and the Count Branaric had simply not applied himself in his lessons. It certainly wouldn't be the first time a son had been outshone by his sister as a byproduct of his laziness.

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--

Her first duty, he knew, would be to escape. The first chance the Countess had, she would run, Vidanric knew. He would have to be on watch the entire time she was under his care through their entire trip to Athaneral. A woman smart and talented enough to counter and block his every strategy to cut the Tlanthi from their supplies would surely attempt to utilize her every advantage to escape. Vidanric glanced up from lashing the saddlebags to the saddle and caught sight of a thoughtful blue gaze, and the Countess' lips twitched as she looked away, fiddling with the branch she was leaning on for support. Vidanric swallowed and as he stepped forward to assist her onto the horse, he thought that perhaps they had all underestimated the abilities of the Tlanthi people if they were as levelheaded as their Countess seemed to be.

--

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--

Meliara's second experience before Galdran Merindar's Court was no different from what she remembered but for one difference. The first time around, she had arrived before the King, filthy, disheveled, and ill. This time, she was somewhat neat, if a bit disheveled and dirty, and more exhausted than ill. The first time, she had simply sat in the carriage and waited to arrive at the Court. This time, she made some effort to neaten herself, having undone her braid and eased out as much of the tangles as she could with her fingers, and rewove it and carefully wound it about her head in a coronet and tucking the end in. There was nothing she could do about her single bare, filthy foot, as she had lost her shoe after walking into the trap, but there was little that could be done, considering the circumstances. She had entered the Court, her head held high, and her face calm and regal despite the knowledge that she looked more the part of a scullery wench than a countess.

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She had fallen ill while in the cell. For Meliara, it was no surprise, having known that although her healing factor had dispersed most of the injury on her foot and prevented the illness that came with being on the field for a long period of time without proper food or clothing on top of a severe injury, but by the time she arrived in Athaneral, her body would have reached its limit. She had nearly forgotten about the Marquis of Shevraeth until he unexpectedly arrived at mid-night of the white candle.

"Ah, the Marquis of Shevraeth," she said, smiling gently, "Let me guess, with Your Grace off the field, my brother and his people have found it easier to make a fool of Debegri. Now, the King has changed his mind, and you are here to tell me that he has decided that I will surrender on the behalf of my brother and his people, or he will execute me. And it will not be a noble's execution, but a criminal's; lasting all day."

She was gratified to see the surprise flit across his face.

"Will you consider it?" he asked, "It might buy you some time."

Meliara smiled. "I believe you already know the answer to that, Your Grace. I cannot surrender. Though it would not be dishonor, I cannot withdraw. I am bound to fight until the current King has been thrown down."

His face was bland, but the tensing of Vidanric's shoulders were all that she needed to know exactly what he thought about that answer.

--

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--

Her initial escape from Athaneral had not changed much beyond the general discomfort. Then came the stealing of a horse, which led her to a farm outside of Remalna City, where she met once again the farmer's daughter Ara and was nursed back to health by the family, the end of which included a philosophical discussion with the master of the farm, a discussion which went just as much as Meliara remembered. She departed in the same outdated yet lovely blue dress that she had worn the last time around, just as barefoot as she had when she was still roaming the mountains of Tlanth.

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--

Vidanric Rensaeleaus, Marquis of Shevraeth, was intrigued. The woman known as Meliara Astiar, Countess of Tlanth, was an enigma, one who never ceased to surprise him. There were rumors of a flame haired woman wandering the roads with a slight limp, but the rumors went as far as the border counties and baronies of the kingdom. She could either travel farther and faster than they had ever given her credit for, or Tlanth had been able to gather more supporters from the populace than they had thought.

A flash of blue caught his eyes, and he glanced over to the slope beside the road, and he felt his body go numb with shock. The Countess's bright eyes sparkled with mirth in the sun, and a slight smile tugged at her lips, and she inclined her head toward him slightly. For a brief moment, the Countess was radiant, and then, the moment passed, and the sullen expression he was used to seeing reappeared. For a moment, he contemplated pulling his horse to a stop, but thought better of it, and following Debegri and his entourage, rode on past, with soldiers in his own family's blue, black and white.

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Nenthar Debegri had the Countess in his guardhouse. It was all Vidanric Rensaeleaus could do to not panic. There was more to the Tlanthi Countess than met the eye, but not even she would be able to withstand torture, because that was precisely what Debegri would do, now that she was in his hands. The bloodthirsty oaf would obviously want retribution for his humiliation, and he would undoubtedly take it out of the Countess's hide.

If the Principality Rensaelaeus wanted the alliance with the Tlanthi, he would have to extract the Countess, preferably unharmed, mentally or physically, and the job would have to be done quickly. He sighed mentally, his mask never faltering. This was going to be a long day…

The fortress was just ahead. Vidanric drew himself out of his musings and spurred his steed forward.

The last thing he had expected when he and his guard entered the fortress was to find one of Debegri's men threatening the Countess with a red hot poker. The countess's face was impossible to read, but her eyes were glittering with unmovable pride and confidence, and she held herself in a way that said quite clearly that she was captured and frightened by their threat, but compared to her, her tormentors were still lesser men. She was radiant, and Vidanric didn't think, and simply reacted. His knife seemed to sprout in the thug's chest. The countess was out of the chair in seconds, the heel of her palm slamming firmly against the remaining man's neck where it met his jaw. There was a sharp _crack! _and the man dropped like a stone.

"You have an impeccable sense of timing, Your Grace," she said in a quiet and even voice. She looked up, and a faint hint of a smile curled on the edge of her lips.

Vidanric found his own lips curving upward in an involuntary smile. "Indeed?" Maybe getting an alliance with County Tlanth would be easier than they had thought…

"Indeed…." The countess replied as she dipped a quick curtsy, one that ended, not with her rising gracefully to her feet, but rather with her collapsing forward in a dead faint.

Vidanric felt the smile get wiped off his face. Well that was unexpected to say the very least.

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**TBC…**


	3. Part 2: In Which Alliances are Made

Crown Identity

**Crown Identity**

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author:** KunoichiYumemi

**Summary:** One woman lives through the ages one day at a time, carrying her mother's legacy, as all the while, her bloodline wanes and becomes corrupted. To save her family, she must return to her past… But can she relive the overwhelming grief, love, and betrayal; or will the burden crush her?

**Note:** This story is set in an alternate Universe I like to call the White Mage Tales. The White Mage Tales is a combination of Crown Duel, Magic, and some Sci-fi. If you don't like this, well, too bad. I'm writing this story, and if you don't like it, then don't read it.

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

Part 2: In Which Alliances are Made and Kings are Overthrown

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

Meliara closed her eyes as the Renseleaus maidservants worked salves and scented creams into her hair, and slid a comb deftly through the auburn locks. She was utterly exhausted by her ordeal, and would have liked nothing more or less than to find a quiet place to have a good cry. Vidanric and Bran were exactly as she remembered them, and the Renseleaus Palace was just as she remembered.

Though it was a part of a future that no longer existed, she longed for her husband's warm reassurance that she was doing well in her self appointed mission, and for Elenet and Nee's gentle understanding, for Russav's teasing support and Tamara's delicately worded advice. She missed having her little Alaerec running to her for advice about this or that matter after she had ceded the throne to him after Vidanric had died, missed the days of instructing Ranisia in magic before her precious daughter went traveling to learn more magic, missed the warm summer nights of telling young Elestra stories of the ways of the White Mage, missed Bran and his open face which could be read like an open book, even up till the day he died. Most of all, she missed the days when she and Vidanric would duck in and out of sheltered little alcoves to snatch a quick kiss or embrace here and there in relative privacy before darting back to hear Petitioner's Court or to attend meetings with this or that dignitary and ambassador, or to rush out to put down little roaming bands of bandits throughout the kingdom.

But those days were long past, they existed only in her memory, and she would have to rebuild all of those bonds again from the beginning. She shook her head sharply, shaking away the melancholy that had descended upon her with those thoughts, and stood up. One of the maidservants brought over a cape-sized towel which Meliara wrapped about her, and they moved into another room filled with trunks and trunks of assorted gowns of every conceivable color and fabric.

Meliara selected once again, the gown of green velvet with little golden birds embroidered at the neck and down either side of the bodice laces. The sleeves were narrow and embroidered at the cuffs and tiny slits had been made at the shoulders and elbows to pull through tufts of a silken under dress of pale gold.

A maid brought out a mirror and Meliara only gave her reflection a cursory look, noting the thin, hollow face which showed a serenity born of hardship, and the sad, tired eyes. Had she aged a little more through this ordeal?

She turned away from the mirror, and said, "I am ready. Where is my brother?"

--

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--

She looked like a queen as she swept into the chamber, clad in one of his beloved wife's gowns, Prince Alaerec thought, though her poor brother looked somewhat awkward and lost as he led his sister into the sitting room, her fingertips just barely brushing the fabric of his sleeve. No doubt the poor boy was having trouble reconciling this woman who had somehow learned court manners while in the heat of war with the girl he had grown up with. He glanced at his son out of the corner of his eyes when he heard the swift intake of breath beside him, and the elderly Prince found that he recognized the look in his only child's eyes. Somewhere, somehow, Vidanric had fallen in love with the Tlanth Countess, and if the pleased gleam in her eyes and the knowing curve of her lips were any indication, she knew exactly what Vidanric was feeling.

Alaerec smiled wistfully. Ah, to be young again….

--

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Bran was completely lost as his sister made small talk with the Renseleaus Prince and the Marquis. First she simply seemed to take over the revolution, and then she walks into their traps. There is a rumble as she is carted off to Athaneral, and then there is a larger rumble when Azmus breaks her out and she goes missing, and now she returns, and she seems to have somehow picked up courtly behavior. He sighed as he took another gulp of his wine. This war had changed his sister, and Bran wasn't sure if he liked this stranger that his sister had become.

He looked up to meet Shevraeth's assessing gaze and flinched. How long had _that_ been trained on him?

"You seem lost, Lord Branaric," the Marquis said gently.

Branaric blinked and glanced at his sister for help. Meliara gave him an expectant look before she turned back toward her conversation with the Prince. Well, it seemed he would have no help from that quarter. "No. Not at all."

"Perhaps you misunderstand me," Shevraeth said, "You do not seem comfortable with Lady Meliara."

"She changed," Bran said gloomily, "Mel's changed _a lot_. She's practically one of those courtiers who were raised at court now, and she spent most of her time in a holding cell!"

His words drifted into silence, and Bran realized belatedly that all conversation had halted. He glanced at his sister and was surprised by the polite serenity, on her face, and Meliara's lips curled slowly in an amused smile as she said lightly, "Oh, Branaric, you never cease to amaze me with your ability to perceive."

It was an odd thing to say, Bran thought, but he supposed he should have expected it from this stranger that his sister had become.

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--

It was odd, Vidanric thought during the dinner, how reasonable the Countess was earlier in comparison to her obstinacy now. He sipped his wine thoughtfully as Meliara Astiar smilingly and politely rebuffed any chance of alliance even as she cleverly veiled the assent to renounce her brother's and her claim to the Remalnan throne. If they picked apart her immediate words, she was agreeing to not dispute their claim, but made no promises as to whether or not Tlanth would dispute their claim on a later date. Behind them, however, was an entirely different story, and not even the Marquis of Shevraeth's quick mind could discern the hidden message of the Countess' words.

Nevertheless, it was with a wary understanding that the Prince Alaerec agreed to Meliara and Branaric Astiar's return to Tlanth.

Once sure that the Count and Countess of Tlanth were out of earshot, Prince Alaerec turned to his son.

"I will never again believe whomever who said that the Thanthi lacked education," the Prince sighed, "I must commend whomever was in charge of Countess Meliara's education, for they were very thorough. There were moments when I was almost convinced that she was brought up in Court."

--

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--

Meliara slept poorly, though it was no fault of the chamber, which was charmingly furnished. It had been, simply that she was reminiscing about times long past, and a future that would exist only in her memory. In the end, she had gone to the window seat to look at the stars, and had dozed off. She did not wake until a maid entered the room.

"Good morning, My Lady," the maid said, laying a bundle down, "The Prince requests the honor of your company for the morning meal, whenever you are ready. Will you be needing anything?"

"No, thank you," Meliara said.

The maid bowed and left. Meliara allowed her mind to drift along the road of her memory as she dressed. So deeply buried in her memory was she that she never noticed her brief talk with Bran, or her discussion with the Prince over breakfast. Her body and memory did it all for her.

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--

Meliara returned to the present due to the shock of cool water running over her feet. She had sat down by a stream under a tree, and had set her bare feet in the water. She sighed and glanced over her shoulder at Bran, whose face was unusually somber.

"Cheer up," she said, "We'll be home soon."

Branaric looked up, his bread half-forgotten in his hand. "And forsworn."

Meliara smiled at her brother. "Not at all. The Renselaeuses shall see to Galdran's fall. That was what Papa wanted."

"No Mel!" Bran said, throwing his bread out over the river. "He wanted us to ensure Galdran's fall, and help in the rebuilding. Now we have to watch it from the sidelines." He turned to his sister and said, "Why do you persist in thinking them liars?"

"I don't think they are liars," Meliara said softly, "But at the same time, events will not go the way I want them to if we follow their plans the moment they are proposed. We are allies with the Renseleauses, but we will not act unless there is no other choice."

She stood up, put on her boots, and swung herself into the saddle. "Come, the sooner we return home to Castle Astiar, the better I'll feel."

Branaric Astiar, confused and uncomprehending of the delicate dance in which his sister was now leading them, could only follow Meliara's lead and pray that whatever plans his sister was making would not be harmed by his own ignorance of what was going on inside her mind.

--

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When they had been ambushed by Debegri's people, Branaric had unthinkingly yelled, "A trap!" Then he had proceeded to send his stubborn sister's mount racing away in fear and pain, and just as Debegri's Riders were about to kill him, the Renselaeus Riders arrived. Bran just barely escaped with his life.

Later, as the Renselaeus Riders brought him to Vesingrui, he regretted his impulsive yell. Bran had no doubt that his sister would come riding down the mountain, breathing fire and out for blood. She would be out for Renselaeus blood, the blood of Vidanric Renselaeus in particular. Nevertheless, he fervently hoped that if Meliara had safely reached Erkan-Astiar, she would simply stay home.

--

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It was dark by the time Meliara arrived at Erkan-Astiar. She stabled her mount, and quickly made her way into the smithy rather than into the lofty and run down castle. Within moments, all the leaders of the Tlanthi Revolution, as Meliara had taken to calling it in her mind, were crowded into the kitchen.

She told them about the occurrence that had taken place on the way back, and she hastily scrawled out a message on a bit of paper, and sent off Khesot with it to Vesingrui with instructions to wait for a reply. Once the man had gone, Meliara made preparations to ride to the border fortress.

She and Oria went up into Erkan Astiar as Julen and Caleb prepared supplies for the ride, and with her childhood playmate, Meliara searched whatever was left of her mother's belongings. As the night sky darkened in the last hours of the night and the rain fell faster and harder, Meliara tucked a bundle of pale, shimmering cloth under her arm and left the room with a satisfied expression. She sent Oria away, went into her room, and smiled down at the bundle in her arms.

--

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--

Vidanric had been surprised to receive a letter, written in haste, from the Lady Meliara. It did not seem like the nature of the hot tempered and impulsive Countess to show such restraint or poise. In fact, he had shown the letter to Branaric in an attempt to ascertain the validity of the letter.

"_Your Grace, Vidanric Renselaeus, Marquis of Shevrath,"_ Bran read, _"I wish to inquire if your Riders have in their care, my esteemed brother, the Count Branaric Astiar of Tlanth. As I have no doubt that this is the case, I shall be making all haste to the fortress of Vesingrui at the coming of the morning. I am eager to see my brother and ascertain for myself his wellbeing, which, I am sure, you have done the utmost to ensure."_

It was signed with a neat and precise hand, _Meliara Astiar of Tlanth_. Bran's brows rose in incomprehension.

"This isn't the way she normally writes at all!" he said, "In any case, Mel detests writing since her handwriting is, by her own admission, terrible."

"Then you do not believe the Lady Meliara wrote this?" Vidanric asked.

"The handwriting is like Mel's when she is trying to be neat," Bran said, "But the tone of the letter isn't at all like her! I don't feel like I know her anymore," Bran admitted, "Ever since this blasted fight started, she started changing. There used to be a time when I could read what she was thinking on her face, and suddenly this! Her voice says one thing, her face says another, and her eyes say something completely different!"

Vidanric sighed and shook his head. "You were safely cloistered away in Tlanth and under my family's protection," he said, "Your sister, on the other hand, was fleeing for her life across Remalna until chance came that allowed my people to catch and retrieve her to Renselaeus. Fleeing for one's life and a revolution would change just about anybody."

"In any case, your sister will be coming down at dawn. You may ask her the motives behind her actions when she arrives."

Bran reluctantly agreed, and Vidanric went to send a reply to the Countess through Khesot, who was still waiting patiently in the other room.

--

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--

The sky was only just beginning to lighten with the dawn when Meliara and her escort comprised of the leaders of the rebellion left Erkan-Astiar, the banner of Astiar fluttering softly above them even as rain shielded the entourage from sight with a silver veil. They met Khesot on one of the lesser used paths and Meliara received the message with a serene smile.

"Branaric is fine," Meliara told the escort, "And the Marquis of Shevraeth will meet us at Vesingrui, and he will lead us to the place where Bran's injury is being treated."

The escort's quiet shifting was her only reply. Meliara's eyes glittered in the light of the rising sun. It is only a matter of time, she thought, and then we will see how far I have come.

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--

They arrived at Vesingrui as the sun fully rose over the horizon, and were met with a riding in the Renseleaus colors, one of whom had flaxen hair and was clad in an anonymous black cloak riding a familiar grey. The Marquis of Shevraeth bowed as Meliara and her escort stopped in front of them.

"Countess," Vidanric said coolly, "I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

Meliara smiled and replied, "I confess, Your Grace, the journey would have been far more pleasant without the rain. Sadly, it is rather difficult to travel by carriage along the trails that were taken to reach Vensingrui with any speed."

Vidanric inclined his head. "Will your escort be accompanying us, Lady Meliara?"

Meliara's eyes glittered. "No. Tlanth is allied with Renseleaus at the moment. I am sure I can place my trust in your warriors." Meliara turned slightly in her saddle and smiled at the escort and said, "Thank you for accompanying me this far. You may return to your homes now."

The escort shifted nervously. "Are you sure, My Lady?" Devon asked. "We've followed you this far, we can follow you farther."

Meliara shook her head. "No. Go home. The Count and I shall return soon, and Erkan Astiar must be made ready for us."

Devon nodded. "Very well," he growled. "Be safe, Countess."

Meliara inclined her head toward the Escort as they moved and rode away. She turned back toward the Marquis and smiled.

"Well then, Your Grace," she said pleasantly, "I am now in your most capable hands."

Vidanric bowed and said, "We ride south, Lady Meliara."

"Do lead the way."

--

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--

Meliara sighed as she stepped out of Bran's room, closed the door, and leaned against it, her forehead grinding against the rough wood. A sudden, terrible weariness had fallen over her, one that weighed down her limbs and made her feel as if she were moving underwater with rocks bound to her back. Meliara recognized the signs of the combined effects of magical, mental, and physical exhaustion. It was true that she rarely had a chance to rest or eat properly since the war began, and her healing ability had been running almost constantly to keep her free of illness and infection. Not to mention that she had woven glamours and illusions to hide while on the run, and had flushed her magic throughout her body to keep moving when all she wanted was to collapse and sleep. When this was all over, she was going to collapse, and she was going to sleep for a very long time to recover her strength.

A door was open on at the other end of the hall, and yellow light was pouring through it. The knowledge that the man that she loved was inside the room that was the source of the light was what drew her more than anything. She straightened up and crossed the hall.

--

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--

The ride through the forest was of little note to Meliara, though she did not miss the frequent looks that her brother and the Marquis sent her. She was incredibly calm, her shoulders were relaxed under the mail shirt which she wore under her over gown, over which she wore a light weight breastplate with the Calahanras device inlaid in electrum, the pretty metal helm she had brought with her from Erkan Astiar fitted snugly over her braid coronet, and with the single edged sword she had somehow obtained at her side, all added to the small smile on her lips, made a lovely yet surreal picture. Neither male had been able to convince her not to wear that pretty little gown or the breastplate which seemed more a costume for show than an actual source of protection.

--

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--

"I just wanted to see if you traitors would face me."

It was a caustic voice filled with hate and malice. The voice of a tyrant. The first time around, that had been the voice that had plagued her for every moment that he was still alive, because she was a Calahanras daughter, and her brother was an Astiar son who was leading a rebellion, and if she was caught, he would use her to get to her brother, and she had not yet learned of her capabilities. Now, Meliara thought it was the voice of a spoiled child who was unused to feeling fear and was suddenly now remembering the old stories and the lineage of those who were opposing him, and thought he could dispel that fear by crushing the source. But Meliara had suffered through many trials, and she had grown into her birthright, so now she did not fear spoiled children. She smiled gently at Galdran, her very bearing indicative of patient tolerance.

Vidanric bowed low over his horse's withers, every line of his body indicating irony. Meliara watched attentively as Galdran's face flushed purple.

"I confess," Vidanric drawled, "that we had a wager on whether you had the courage to face us."

Galdrn swelled with fury. "Kill them!" he roared.

Meliara stood in the saddle and flung out her arms as she called out two syllables in a ringing, melodic voice. Immediately there were cries of shock and fear from all around her as the arrows that were flying through the air stopped and remained immobile.

Galdran's face paled and he roared, "The witch! Never mind the others, kill the witch!"

Meliara was only vaguely aware of the twanging of bowstrings and Bran's urgent call of, "Mel!" as she dropped the arrows she was holding aloft as a second volley flew through the air and Meliara cried out a brief incantation in a melodic language and made sweeping motions with her hands. Immediately the arrows rebounded off an invisible barrier. Meliara sat back down, yanked her sword from its sheath and parried a blow from a green clad warrior.

Vidanric appeared beside her. "How long will the spell hold?"

"Not long!" she replied, "If I had more time and resources, I would anchor it, and the barrier would hold indefinitely as it draws from the earth's own ambient magic!"

Vidanric nodded and opened his mouth to speak, and then more warriors in green appeared. Meliara sensed arrows punching through areas over which her concentration was less focused, and she turned her horse toward those areas, sending a wave of healing energy rippling over the blue clad warriors who fought more fiercely as they were revitalized and their wounds healed. Her horse plunged aside, and she shifted in the saddle and came face to face with Galdran's furious visage.

"You," he snarled, "I will kill you myself!" and he raised his flat bladed sword.

She lifted her sword and remembered how the first blow had nearly knocked her out of her saddle, but when Galdran's blade connected with hers, she was shocked by how easy it was for her to counter it. The next strike came down, and her sword flashed through the air, and Meliara was shocked to see three blades meet with a ringing strike that sent sparks flying through the air. She turned her head as the three blades separated, and saw Vidanric beside her, and as she saw a flash of silver, Meliara instinctively lifted her sword and batted away the king's strike, and turned her head in time to see Vidanric's blade to slip through the opening that was made, and lop off Galdran's head. The fighting immediately stopped as warriors in green flung down their weapons in surrender or ran.

"You know," Meliara said conversationally, "I think I could have handled myself."

Serene blue eyes met with startled gray, and Vidanric bowed over his horse's withers. "Accept my apologies for interfering then, Lady Meliara," he said, "But I hoped to distract the king that you would be able to focus on your spell."

Meliara smiled and snapped her fingers, whispering a few syllables. The air around the battlefield rippled and stilled, and Meliara blinked as a stray arrow flew through the air and stuck Debegri in the back.

"Ed' i'ear ar' elenea!" (By the Sea and Stars!) she cried, watching the Baron fall from his horse, "That certainly is an unexpected development!"

"A most fortuitous development," Vidanric agreed, his voice amused, "Though I myself would have preferred to have been able to take the good Baron alive."

"Meliara!" Bran said, riding up next to them, his eyes grim, "I think it's time we had a talk, sister."

--

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--

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 3: In Which Nee gets to Know Mel

Crown Identity

**Crown Identity**

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author:** KunoichiYumemi

**Summary:** One woman lives through the ages one day at a time, carrying her mother's legacy, as all the while, her bloodline wanes and becomes corrupted. To save her family, she must return to her past… But can she relive the overwhelming grief, love, and betrayal; or will the burden crush her?

**Note:** This story is set in an alternate Universe I like to call the White Mage Tales. The White Mage Tales is a combination of Crown Duel, Magic, and some Sci-fi. If you don't like this, well, too bad. I'm writing this story, and if you don't like it, then don't read it.

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

Part 3: In Which Nimiar Gets to Know Meliara

**XoXoXoXoXoXoXoX**

Meliara was not surprised in the least to hear Bran's decisive and grim declaration. She was well aware that she wasn't acting the way she had, and that the excuse of having grown because of her experiences would soon wear thin. All she had were flimsy excuses that even Bran could tear through in an instant; she knew better than to try them, her brother was anything but stupid--and the truth was far too fantastic for Bran to believe. Her mother had taught her a little bit when she was younger, Mel knew, and thought that perhaps a few careful applications of an illusion might convince her brother that a young Mel had salvaged some of her mother's belongings before their father had destroyed all the books and allowed the weather to destroy the majority of Ranisia's things. It was a long shot, and Meliara disliked using her powers on another human, but with current circumstances and careful application, it might just work.

Meliara inclined her head toward Bran, her face and eyes bland. "Of course, brother," she replied mildly.

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--

Bran frowned as he stared into the fire, his sister's presence in the room all but completely forgotten. Their mother had taught Meliara the basics of Courtly behavior before her death, not knowing if Meliara would later need it was an acceptable reason. That their mother had some Magic books set aside with her things and that Meliara had found them and had started studying them after he had taught her her letters was understandable as well, but where had Meliara's understanding of politics and strategy come from? Bran simply could not accept that maybe Meliara had studied the books that their father had kept to teach his son the arts of warfare with while Bran was doing other things. Mel studying Magic and keeping sharp with the lessons their mother had taught her was understandable as Meliara had loved their mother very much, and those lessons would have been a link to their mother. But politics and warfare? Why would Mel have studied it? Certainly their father had not given much thought as to what would be done with his only daughter, so where could Meliara have gotten this knowledge? Several questions were answered, but it was the question of where Meliara had gotten her knowledge of politics and warfare that Bran could not answer appropriately.

So deep he was in his contemplations, he never noticed his sister as she slipped out of the room and away.

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--

Meliara slipped into the room that Vidanric used and set down the waterproof wallet containing Debegri's letter and carefully penned a missive stating that he was to feel free to use the letter as he saw fit to convince any remaining followers of Galdran's regime. That done, she slipped out of the little woodcutter's cottage into a clearing where Renseleaus stable hands sat. They leapt to their feet when they saw her.

Meliara smiled and said lightly, "I should like a ride."

Very quickly, a fresh, mettlesome horse was saddled and Meliara was riding away from the woodcutter's cottage for Erkan Astiar.

--

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--

Two months passed, and Meliara had seen the entirety of Erkan Astiar swept clean of dirt and leaves and in most rooms the stain of years had been scrubbed away. She had swiftly set up an ensorcelled perimeter around the open windows to keep out the elements until there was a time that she could have shutters and glass installed.

The library of Erkan Astiar saw the family histories that Ranisia Astiar had cleverly copied and hidden away against the day that the histories might need to be replaced had found their way back onto the shelves, accompanied by several other books that had been ordered to replace the tomes lost. It was a modest beginning for the library, but the collection would soon grow much more quickly. Or at least it would once Bran's letter arrived.

As soon as the thought passed through her mind, a cry drifted through the window. Meliara's lips curled in a wry smile as she rose to her feet, gently brushing invisible wrinkles from the heavy dark green fabric before she left her room. Meliara drew an illusion about her to hide her presence as she made her way down into the kitchen where Julen was staring at a handsome man with curly brown hair dressed in livery in Astiar colors emblazoned with the Astiar device.

"My business is with the Countess of Tlanth," he said, sweeping a cool gaze over Julen and Oria as well as the other members of the Astiar Household.

"I am she," Meliara said, releasing the illusion as she stepped forward. Her lips twitched as Julen, Oria, and the equerry jumped in surprise.

The equerry schooled his face, bowed courteously and said, "My lady, I was instructed to give this directly to you."

He pulled out a letter, and handed it to Meliara, who took the letter with a cool face.

"Thank you," she said mildly, "What is your name?"

The equerry bowed once again. "Jerrol if it pleases you, my lady."

Meliara nodded and said calmly, "Welcome to Tlanth, Jerrol." And she swept out of the kitchen. She smiled to herself as she made her way up to her room. Things were beginning to fall into place. Maybe this time she could save her children from corruption?

--

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--

**1 year later….**

As the carriage rumbled up the drive, Nimiar Argaliar had her first look at Erkan Astiar and her fiancé's famed sister. As Branaric handed her out of the carriage, Nimiar felt her heart leap into her throat. At the grand double doors of the ancient castle, stood Meliara Astiar, her head held high and her features were serene. Clad in a gown of blue-grey with tiny pearls and white stones sewn on the tight sleeves and hemming the square neck, with her hair braid coronet decorated with pale blue ribbons studded with blue rhinestones, Meliara Astiar was the very picture of elegance; no matter that she was garbed in fashions almost thirty years out of date.

Meliara smiled as she descended down the slate steps as Branaric led Nimiar toward the steps leading up to the doors. "Brother! Welcome home!" she said, a welcoming smile on her lips.

"Sister!" Bran cried with equal enthusiasm, releasing Nimiar and leaping up the steps to catch his sister in an embrace. "The place looks wonderful!"

Nimiar watched as Meliara swept cerulean eyes over the army of servants swarming over the carriages and felt her heart sink as clear disapproval flittered across the Countess' features for a brief moment before returning to a serene mask.

"You should have written to tell me that you were coming, Brother," Meliara said mildly, "We would have been better prepared to welcome you and your guests. Ah! But never mind! Come in out of the cold!"

Nimiar smiled and stepped forward, "I am Nimiar Argaliar," she said, relieved that her voice did not shake, "It is an honor to meet you at last, Countess."

Cerulean eyes surveyed her and Meliara took her hand, a flicker of some unidentifiable emotion in her eyes. "Welcome to Tlanth," the Countess said, "I do hope you will enjoy your stay."

"Is there a welcome for me?" Nimiar did her best not to startle as Vidanric came leisurely up the steps to where they stood.

Meliara gave the Marquis a pleasant smile. "Of course, Your Grace. Please, come into the parlor, all of you, and I'll see to some refreshment. It must have been a long trip."

"T'was slow," Bran said as he looked around. "Roads are still bad down mountain, but not up here anymore. You've been busy haven't you?"

Meliara smiled as she ushered her brother and his guests into the parlor where one of the extra firesticks was burning merrily in the fireplace. "Please make yourself comfortable, I will be back with refreshments."

Nimiar sighed as Meliara left. "The Countess certainly is formidable," she remarked wryly.

Vidanric's eyes curled with laughter and he said, "She is even more so when you are on the opposite side of the field from her."

"Mel's not that bad!" Bran protested, "She's just…"

"Frightening?" Vidanric ventured only to receive a venomous look.

"You only say that because she countered your every move during the war, and you didn't realize that she knew some magic," Bran retorted.

Vidanric sketched a bow and said nothing.

"Intense?" Nimiar supplied.

"Strong willed, was what I meant," Bran said. "Either way, let's see what Mel's done with the library."

--

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--

The countess swept into the library almost half an hour later, her eyes and face serene, through the skin at the corner of her eyes were tense. The three looked up as she approached and Branaric gave Meliara a reckless grin.

"There you are, Mel!" he said jovially, "Will we be having something warm to drink soon?"

"Refreshments will be here soon enough," Meliara said gently, "We first had to see to the question of housing for your servants. I'm afraid most of them will have to be housed in the garrison. The cold weather came upon us so suddenly that the construction had to be left off, and so the servant's wing is still open to the sky."

"We saw the garrison coming up," Bran shrugged, "Looks nice and snug. Now, where did you get all these new books?"

"We need to thank our mother for her foresight," Meliara said, "Thanks to her; the Astiar Histories were copied and preserved. As for the rest, they were ordered from a bookseller in the capital."

"Mother copied and preserved the histories?" Bran's face was incredulous.

Meliara gave her brother a tolerant smile. "Yes. Mama was very wise to do so. If she had not had the histories preserved, they would have been lost for good when Papa destroyed the library."

Bran opened his mouth to protest, but Julen entered the library, her face solemn and composed as she carried a tray loaded down with apple tarts and tea. She set the tray down on the table and quickly left. Bran turned toward Meliara, his face mirroring confusion.

"We serving ourselves?"

Meliara smiled sweetly. "I recall mentioning to you, brother, that we would have been better prepared to welcome you if you had sent word. I have sent word to the inns to send up some of their servants. I'm afraid we will all have to make do without until they arrive to prepare supper."

Bran sighed as he stood up and moved toward the table. "You were right Nee; I ought to have written ahead. Just thought that the surprise would be more fun!" He poured four glasses of wine.

Nimiar rose to her feet and picked up two glasses and carried them over to where the countess stood, her face cool and her back ramrod straight, and handed her a glass while Bran took the remaining two glasses and gave one to the Marquis of Shevraeth.

Then Bran turned and raised his glass and declared jovially, "To my sister! Everything you've done is better than I ever thought possible! Though," he lowered his glass and peered critically at his sister, "why are you dressed like that? That gown has got to be over thirty years out of date!"

Meliara tilted her chin up imperiously and said mildly, "A lady has a right to be comfortable in her own home, Branaric."

Nimiar spotted Bran opening his mouth to protest and raised her own glass quickly. "To the end of winter."

Nimiar felt warmth spreading through her as she caught the countess' glance of approval as the group drank their wine. Then Branaric tried again to make a toast.

"To Mel, and what she's done for my house!"

Meliara delicately arched an eyebrow at her brother and said wryly, "You have been acting rather odd, Bran. Am I missing something?"

"Huh?" Bran gave his sister a confused look. "What do you mean, Mel?"

Nearby, the Marquis, who had been up until now, mostly unnoticed, lifted his glass and drawled, "My dear Branaric, never tell me you failed to inform your sister of the change in your circumstance?"

"What?" Branaric glanced at his friend questioningly, "Course I did! Wrote a long letter all about it—" he smacked his forehead.

"A letter that is still sitting on your desk?" Vidanric murmured.

"Life! It must be! Curse it; it went right out of my head!"

"And what news would this be?" Meliara asked with a strange glint in her eye.

Nimiar had the distinct feeling that the Countess already knew what news her brother had neglected to inform her of. Branaric reached over for her hand, and Nimiar wondered if he was trying to protect her from his sister or trying to hide behind her from his sister.

"Nimiar and I are getting married on Midsummer's Eve," Bran said, "She'll be adopting into our family. You've got to be at Athaneral for it, Mel."

Meliara gave her brother a wry look before turning to Nimiar with a warm smile. "Welcome to the family, such as it is, Lady Nimiar," the countess said. She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "I thought as much. Bran's not exactly subtle is he?"

Nimiar giggled both with joy that she had been so readily accepted by the formidable countess and relief that the countess seemed little disturbed by the news. "No, he's not subtle in the least," she agreed, "and please call me Nee."

Melaira smiled. "Come, I will show you the castle."

Bran moved to Nimiar's side as he said, "I can do that. I'd like a squint at the changes myself."

"Oh," Nee said, "why don't you gentlemen sit and drink your wine? I'd much rather Meliara show me about."

"But I—"

Vidanric rose and thrust Bran down into the cushions, saying mock sternly, "Sit."

Bran laughed. "Oh, aye, let the females get to know each other."

And Nimiar smiled, and glanced out the corner of her eye where she noticed Meliara's smile turn wistful.

--

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--

Meliara had guided them about the castle, turning them about expertly, until they arrived in the summer parlor, and there, in the same place that she had always remembered it, was Ranisia Astiar's harp. Meliara watched nostalgically as Nimiar pressed her fingertips to her mouth at the sight of the harp.

"Why, 'tis a Mandarel," Nimiar gasped, "Do you play it?"

Meliara's lips twitched. She recalled learning to play a harp during her future queenship so she had something to do while confined during her pregnancies and when there were the brief moments of freedom when there was no royal business to be done. She remembered the pleasant days in the presence chamber when she would sit and play the harp with Vidanric seated beside her with an open book in his lap, their three children playing ball or practicing their letters as the warm sunlight streamed in through a window. But those days were gone, and existed only in her memory, and if things went well, perhaps she could have them again.

"Mama taught me to play," Meliara lied blithely, "but I confess I have not had the heart to play since she died. Do you play, Nee?"

"Not as well as this instrument deserves," Nimiar said, "and I haven't practiced in ages. It's one of the drawbacks of Court life. One gets caught up in all the endless social rounds and forgets other things. May I try it sometime?"

Meliara gave Nimiar a warm, amused smile, and said, "It is yours. This will soon be your home also, and as I have not had the heart to play, the harp has stood silent for many years. It is my belief that instruments ought to be played and not sit silent."

Nimiar couldn't stop herself. She leapt forward and caught up Meliara's hand and kissed it. She looked up at Meliara who smiled down at her as a parent would a beloved child. Nimiar stared at the smile and wondered what she had just gotten herself into, marrying the brother of this powerful and enigmatic woman who had taken her education into her own hands and ruled over a small mountain province while her brother whiled away his time at court and unexpectedly brought home a noble lady who was to be his bride. What did this woman, who had countered every strategy that Vidanric had learned at Marloven Hess, and was so powerful that she had easily set up a magical barrier to deflect hundreds of arrows from the rebel army's back, think of her?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the two gentlemen came in, both wearing their cloaks, and Nee's hanging over Bran's arm.

"There you are," Bran said, "Found Mama's harp I see."

"Yes," Nee said, forgetting her musings as she looked away from Meliara toward her betrothed, "and Meliara says I may play it whenever I like."

"A good notion that," Bran said, "only let's get it moved up somewhere warm, shall we?"

Nee looked over to see how the countess felt. Meliara's face was blank as she spread her hands and said mildly, "As you like."

Bran nodded. "Good. Then put on something warm, Mel, and we'll take a turn in the garden and see what's toward."

"Oh, dear," Meliara said, "I'm afraid I can't," she smiled, "Your arrival was so unexpected that everyone is frantic trying to get everything in order. I should make sure that everything is running smoothly or we may not have dinner tonight!"

And then she was gone. Nimiar blinked in confusion and glanced at Bran, who looked confused and hurt. Vidanric raised an eyebrow at her, and tilted his head toward the door, where the countess was stepping past the tapestry.

Well that was odd…

--

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--

Bran was confused when Oria approached him several hours later with news that Meliara was ill. She was perfectly fine a moment ago! No, it was more likely that she was in her room reading.He made his way up the stairs toward Mel's room and thrust aside the tapestry.

"Mel!" he called and paused, staring at the bed. His sister laid there, her eyes closed and her breathing slow and even. Her long, dark eyelashes brushed lightly at her cheeks and stood out in stark contrast against her pallid skin. Bran quietly stepped back and let the tapestry fall back across the doorway.

Alright, so perhaps Mel wasn't so much ill as tired. She had not been given much time to prepare for their arrival after all. Bran felt guilt nag at him. Perhaps he should give his sister a little more credit instead of believing only the worst of her. He had arrived rather unexpectedly, and there was quite a bit to be done to incorporate unexpected guests into an already established household that was just large enough to serve a single person who was used to cleaning up after herself….

"Bran?" Nee's voice cut through his thoughts.

Branaric looked up and blinked, realizing that he had arrived in the antechamber which was connected to the dining hall. Nee and Vidanric were watching him, Nee's eyes were concerned, and Vidanric's was blank.

"Is Meliara alright?" Nee asked.

"Ah…" Bran said slowly, "Mel's sleeping. I guess all that rushing about to accommodate us and the servants on such short notice wore her out."

"Let that be a lesson to you," Vidanric said dryly, "not to tire out your poor sister without advanced notice of your arrival if you intend to return home suddenly with guests and a large retinue of servants."

Bran looked sheepish. "I know. You don't need to tell me."

--

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--

The next morning, Nimiar woke, and as her maid, Ilvet, helped her dress, the castle steward entered and bowed. "The Countess requests the honor of the Lady Nimiar Argaliar's company at breakfast in the Winter Parlor, whenever you are ready. Do you need anything?"

Nee blinked. "Um, no, thank you," she said, feeling unusually clumsy at the thought of dining alone with the countess. "But where exactly, is the Winter Parlor?"

The stewardess' face was bland as she bowed. "I will arrange for a guide, my lady."

--

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--

Nimiar walked through the hall toward the Winter Parlor, past the servants Branaric and Vidanric had brought, and past Meliara's bland faced servants whose eyes were (in Nimiar's private opinion) as intense as the countess'. The servants bowed her into a cozy parlor where the countess was already seated. With a delicate flick of a wrist, the countess motioned to a seat in front of her.

When Nimiar was seated, Meliara said softly, "How was your night, Lady Nimiar? Was the room to your liking?"

Nee smiled and said, "I slept well enough. The room was lovely. You did very well in your refurbishment of the castle."

Meliara smiled as several servants brought in the food, and lastly, a server poured out cups of chocolate for them. "I am glad," she said, "I would be terribly distressed if the changes to Erkan Astiar did not appeal to you, especially as you are to become family."

Nee found the tension in her shoulders melting away. Why had she been so nervous anyway?

When they were finished, Meliara said calmly, "Now then, what are your intentions with my brother, Lady Nimiar?"

And Nee felt her shoulders tense again. "Countess?" she ventured carefully.

"You are a lesser nobility," Meliara said, "Surely you did not think that I would discount the possibility that you would wish to marry Bran for status? My brother is not as cautious as he should be, especially so soon after the revolution."

"Bran is a dear," Nee said, "and I do love him for how he never fails to speak the truth. I believe, however, that if you ever thought that there would be a chance that Vidanric could not prevent your brother from being ensnared by a woman who wished to marry him for status alone, you would have ridden to Court immediately. I do believe that if you thought for a moment that I was marrying Branaric for his titles, then you would not have welcomed me so warmly. In fact, you would have been likely to have done your utmost best to separate us."

Meliara's eyes narrowed, and Nee felt a chill down her spine as the countess surveyed her with unfeeling eyes. "I would think," she said, "that you who were raised at court would be more careful with her words. I anticipated that at some point, my brother would be caught by a Lady at Athaneral, and I feared one of them might wish for his title."

Nee swallowed hard. She was not betrothed to Branaric for the sake of his titles, so why was it she was so intimidated by this woman?

"However, I had the utmost faith in Lord Vidanric to prevent such harpies from approaching my brother," Meliara said, and Nee stared at the countess in surprise, taking in the woman's warm smile. "Which is why I deigned to remain here and see to the castle rather than travel to Court. I had hoped that at some point, my brother would bring that particular lady home when it became obvious that no other power could bring me to leave the mountain." Meliara's smile widened, "I had every intention of attending Athaneral for my brother's wedding, but left off many preparations for attending Court with the intention of having you assist me, and in the process, I hoped that we could better get to know each other. We are soon to be family after all."

"Oh!" Nee gaped at the countess and then smiled and said, "Vidanric was right. You are an evil, evil woman, Meliara."

Meliara's eyes sparkled with amusement.

--

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--

Nee watched in amusement as Meliara stared in confusion at all the fabric that was brought in by the seamstresses.

"I know I am trying to acquire in days what other ladies will have acquired over years," the countess said in bewilderment, "but isn't this a bit too much?"

"You said so yourself, Mel," Nee said, "You'll be acquiring in days what other ladies have accumulated over years. This is actually just enough for one set of clothes for all occasions except for the ball gown."

Meliara closed her eyes with a sigh of exhaustion. "Oh dear. How will I ever manage?"

Nee smiled, and said, "You'll manage, you'll manage very well, especially once you acquire a maid."

--

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--

The next day, Nee's Ilvet brought a relative to be interviewed by Meliara as her maid. Nee wondered how the two would get along and watched anxiously as Mora bowed and folded her hands in front of her, her face inscrutable, and waited for Meliara to speak.

"Tell me," the countess said after a moment, "are you familiar with mages?"

"No my lady," Mora replied.

Meliara nodded. "I thought as much." There was a pause and Meliara added, "I should tell you, I am known to be notoriously independent, and I am accustomed to cleaning up after myself. I will not interfere with your hiring of a household. However, I will have one stipulation. I have some skill in mage craft, and I have every intention of learning more. I will not tolerate shoddy handling of my spell books or my materials for spell casting."

Mora's face remained inscrutable.

"Now," Meliara said, "If things go well, you may be in my service for a long time yet. As it is, there are many preparations to get through if I am to go to court. You will begin immediately."

--

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--

The first of Meliara's gowns were finished shortly after. It was a dinner gown, and as Mora and Nee helped her lace up the gown, Nee spoke of how every one would retire the affairs they had worn during Galdran's reign, either giving them away, consigning them to attics for later generations to marvel at, or to have them taken apart to be remade.

"Remind me to take you to the Heraldry Archive," Nee said, "There's been someone to draw what rulers have worn for centuries. It's absolutely fascinating. In the meantime, let me show you how to speak with fans."

"Speak?" Meliara mused, "I suppose it would be understandable… With Galdran, it would have been dangerous when words would say too much…"

Nee smiled. "Precisely. Now," she reached out and lightly tapped Meliara's wrist with her closed fan, her wrist arched and her hand angled downward. "What does this seem to suggest?"

"That I stay where I am," Meliara answered.

Nee nodded, and said, "And this?" She tapped Meliara's wrist again, and this time her hand was arched differently.

"It's like a beckon."

"Exactly…"

--

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--

The buds on the trees were beginning to show green when Branaric suddenly said at dinner one day, "We really ought to start for Remalna-City these days, Mel. Danric has his work, and Nee hasn't seen her people in all these days!"

Meliara smiled as her brother went on about the construction and something about cats in a dog's kennel.

"Set the date," she said lightly, which earned her a surprised look from Vidanric and Bran.

Meliara caught Nimiar's eyes and gave her a wink, and Nee smiled slightly, waving her fan in a mode indicating secrets between friends, remembering Meliara's confession the morning after their initial arrival at Erkan Astiar about deliberately withholding communications and her presence at court for the purpose of getting to know the woman that she had expected her brother to bring home. Nee shut her fan and glanced to the side and her eyes met Vidanric's. He arched a single brow in question, and Nee smiled secretively. She had indeed gotten to know Meliara better over the season, and the countess was not so much aloof and imperious, but rather she was more often than not distracted by some thought in her head or some book that she was studying, or by the work that came from running Erkan Astiar while her brother saw to Tlanthi business. Yes, Meliara was quite formidable at times; almost seeming to know what would happen before it happened, but it was simply her planning for every conceivable possibility. She was a deep thinker that Meliara, and there were times when the woman would simply make herself near ill with thinking too much.

--

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--

Nimiar arranged herself carefully in the carriage, and watched as Meliara accepted a basket of food from Julen and exchanged words with Erkan Astiar's steward. They were a fine looking cavalcade with the baggage coaches and the outriders in the Astiar and Renselaeus livery, and Branaric and Vidanric on fresh, mettlesome mounts that danced and sidled and tossed their heads, their newly shod shoes striking sparks on the stones of the courtyard.

"Thank you," Meliara said finally, pulling on her newly made traveling gloves. "Be well, Oria, and keep us posted on Tlanth's business."

"I'll write often," Oria promised. She bowed to Nee and stepped back.

"Very well," Bran said as he raised a hand, "Let's be off!" He flashed a grin to Nee and Meliara and dropped his hand, and his impatient horse dashed forward.

The carriage moved more slowly through the gates, and Nee watched as Meliara turned to look wistfully out the back window as they pulled away and out of sight of Erkan Astiar.

"Regrets about leaving home?" Nimiar asked.

"No," Meliara said, "In fact, I'm rather excited. I have this feeling that this will be the start of a whole new chapter of my life. I hardly know where this new path will lead me, but all I know is that this is the path to my future, the path now under my feet. Athanarel is the key I think."

"Key?" Nee asked, "Key to what?"

Meliara smiled and said, "To the future of course!"

"And what sort of future do you think it will be?" Nee asked.

"It will be a wonderful one, I hope."

"You hope?"

Meliara laughed. "I am a mage, Nee, not a far-seer."

Nee had the feeling that the future Meliara was talking about would be a fine one and she chuckled. "That's true…"

--

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--

**TBC…**


End file.
